Daylight Moon
by ScarletDevil1503
Summary: In Chicago, 1918, rumors of a spreading epidemic are causing panic. The Masen family is caught right in the middle; the simple life they shared has come to a horrific end. Strangely, only Edward and Carlisle seem to remember the second survivor of the Masen family. This story tells of the tragedy that befell Eleanor Elizabeth Masen. Set in the canon universe, follows timeline, OC.
1. Chapter 1: Summer

**Hey there.**

**Here's a story inspired by Carlisle's description of how he met and changed Edward. With my own twist (OC, of course).  
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**This is un-beta-ed. "T" for death and mild language.  
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**-Scarlet**

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><p>Disclaimer: I do not own <em>Twilight<em>. This is a work of fanfiction.**  
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><p><strong><span>Daylight Moon<span>  
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**Preface**

I always felt as though I had never made a lasting impression with my life. That I had never done anything of worth... anything that would be remembered after me. That I would simply vanish from the minds of the people that I cared about.

Sure, I had played baseball with my brother and his friends every Friday after school. Yes, I had made my mother smile with every report card I brought home. Of course, I would never have thought of marriage until well after school, and I never wore any skirts above the knees. And I'd even helped old lady Mary Palmer down the street with her laundry on Wednesdays.

I did all these things with my life, but nothing more. This, I regret more than anything. But it's too late for that now... because my life has ended.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Summer<strong>

Chicago was on the decline during the time of my youth. My parents had moved there long before I was born, to escape disapproving families. However, the corrupt politicians and the city gangs did not affect my humble life, largely due to the fact that my parents sheltered me from that harsh world. My only troubles were things like how many blankets I could sew that week to send to the war effort, and what I would say to Danny Williams to get his attention before the weekend.

I never understood why my father would introduce me to his friends before my brother, even though he was older. "This is my wife, Elizabeth," he would say, "and this is our daughter, Eleanor Elizabeth." Then he would say Edward's name, and Edward would scowl when the person chuckled. You see, my brother was named for my father, and Father had the habit of calling him "small Edward." Since it was uncustomary for the girl to be named for the mother, "Elizabeth" became my middle name.

Though my brother and I were born on the same day in the same month, we vary by several years. In 1904, when my brother turned three years of age, I was born. We were nothing but playmates until I became aware of myself at nine, then we were best friends.

I remember that summer clearly – I had turned fourteen during the school year, and that was a very "grown up" age, as my few friends told me. It was also the same summer that my brother grew inexplicably close to a certain infatuation of mine: Danny Williams. Before, the two had never favored each other, even though they were in many of the same classes in school. But all of a sudden, whatever it was that had happened between them, they were as thick as thieves. I blushed a lot around Danny Williams, even though we had gone to the same school our whole lives, and I was always nervous when he spoke to me. Which wasn't often. Even though he was the same age as my brother, I couldn't help but swoon at his handsome face and expensive clothes.

I guess I had missed the call to play that day, as well as the call to bat. Because it just happened to be that specific day that Jerry Thomson from next-door decided to hit the ball way out to left field, where I stood in my regular position. It was at least the fiftieth game we were playing that summer, but it was the first that Danny had come to. He was at second, waiting for the batter to make a run, and waiting for me to catch the fly.

But I wasn't watching the fly. I was watching Danny Williams watching me.

The sun was high up in the cloudless sky, shinning relentlessly on our already-sunburnt skin. There was quite a crowd at the old field that day: my brother at the pitcher's mound, Richy Dodge at first, Danny Williams at second, Timmy Butler at third, and Jimmy Wheeler in right field. Johnny Dodge (Richy's older brother), George Cooper, Tom Judge, and Willy and Billy Johnson were waiting to bat while Jerry Thomson whacked that ball. The burning sun scorched across my freckled face as I squinted through the brightness at Danny Williams. My glove hung uselessly at my side as the ball arced high against the blue sky.

"Left! It's going left!" called Richy Dodge.

"Ella! Ella, that's you!" Timmy Butler cried.

"Hey! Hey, it's coming!" yelled Jimmy Wheeler.

"Catch it, Eleanor!" my brother shouted.

Before all the yelling even registered in my mind, the ball struck the ground ten feet away, and bounced twice in the grass softly.

Jerry, quite overweight for being just thirteen, hobbled across the field to first base. It was that moment that I came back to myself, only because Danny had turned his attention to Jerry's slow, steady advance.

Timmy, at third, who had always had too high of a voice, screamed, "Ellie, GET THE BALL!"

Coming out of my daze, I stumbled into a run for the ball, and scooped it up with my gloveless hand, wishing I could throw it to Danny Williams. But, when I straightened up to throw, I found that Jerry had already rounded second, and was bouncing off to third. All the boys in the in-field were shouting and yelling him on.

"To third, Ella! To _third_!" Richy Dodge hollered from first, waving his glove in the right direction.

Crestfallen, I threw the ball to third with all my might. Timmy jumped two feet off the ground to catch it, and promptly threw it home. Edward was there, and he tagged the base before Jerry was even halfway there.

If it had been anyone else but Jerry, my team would've been down one run for sure.

:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:

"Don't feel bad, Ella. It's just a game, and it wasn't even your fault that we lost."

I crossed my arms angrily, and turned my head away from my brother's words of reason. I was perched on the termite-riddled bench in the long-abandoned dugout, fuming over my team's loss.

"Yes it was, and you _know_ it," I snapped aggressively. "I've _never_ struck out three times in a row before." Had it only been because Danny Williams was waiting at third to make his run when I hit the ball?

Incidentally, Edward glanced over at Danny – who was waiting by a row of bikes with some other boys – before fixing a stern, father-like look upon me. "Ella, come home with me. You're just tired from the heat."

I sighed and stood from my seat, wiping the sweat from my brow. Edward took my hand, and I followed him out of the dugout and across the field to the bike-rack. The field was right off an old neighborhood road, with houses here and there. Whatever baseball games had been held there had obviously taken place in the last century, and yet, it was our dearest hang-out.

Danny Williams was laughing at a joke Tom Judge had told when Edward and I reached them. My brother squeezed my hand before letting it go. Billy and Willy Johnson were still there, along with Danny and Tom. Everyone else had already left.

"Sorry we called you a girl, Eleanor," said 16-year-old Billy.

"Yeah, sorry," added his 14-year-old brother, Willy, looking down.

I shrugged, glancing out from under my baseball cap for only half a second, and said nothing. I had always known Billy and Willy to be poor-sports, but they were never gloaters for very long. Our families had dinner together sometimes, as they lived just one street over.

"I should get home," Danny was saying to my brother. "I said that I'd be home by six to take care of David." He lived across town in a neighborhood much nicer than our own.

"Sure, Danny. I should get Eleanor home anyway."

At my name, Danny glanced down at me. I looked at my feet, curling my toes in shyness.

But his eyes weren't on me for very long. "All right, then. Seeya, Edward."

"'Bye, Danny."

I watched his brand-new red bike peddle away until it disappeared around a corner. "What's wrong with David?" I asked. David was Danny's younger brother, in the third grade.

Edward shrugged. "I think he's sick."

Billy and Willy said goodbye and left with Tom, who was their next-door neighbor. By the sun, it was just about an hour before dinner. I stood watching Billy, Willy, and Tom walk away down the street as Edward pulled his bike out onto the road.

"Come on, Ella," he said impatiently.

Silently, I hiked up the steep shoulder of the road, and stood beside my brother's bike. He lifted me up by the arms, and set me in the basket mounted on the front side of the handlebars. Even though I wore knickers under my skirt, I pulled the material down over my knees to be ladylike.

"Ready?"

"Uh-huh."

Edward pushed off the curb, and peddled slowly down the road. The warm breeze felt cool on my sweaty face and neck, so I took of my hat, and shook my damp hair loose.

We were only two miles from home, so we'd defiantly be well early for dinner.

"Ella?" said Edward, once we were out of the old neighborhood on Vancouver Road.

"What, Edward?" I mumbled, scraping at a grass stain on my knee.

"What's wrong? I mean… you just haven't been yourself lately." He waited for a car to pass before crossing the street to 5th and Pine.

I shrugged wordlessly.

"_Really,_ Ella," he pressed. "Don't lie."

I shrugged again, but this time, I said, "Maybe it's just because school's starting soon."

He shook his head at my poor excuse. "School doesn't start for a whole month. Try something else." He could always tell when I lied.

Then I spotted Jerry Thomson, wobbling along across the street on the sidewalk, waving to us enthusiastically. I waved back, since Edward was driving. It was amazing how slowly that kid walked – he had left before everyone else had _and_ he lived just next-door to us.

"I don't wanna talk about it, Edward," I sighed, staring off at the faded add-sign of the supermarket we were passing.

"It's that Danny Williams kid, isn't it?" Edward guessed, right on the mark as usual.

I scowled. "He's _not_ a kid. He's seventeen, Edward – your age."

"Sure he is, Ella. And _you're_ fourteen."

"So?" I snapped, irritated. Was I so transparent to everybody, or just my brother?

"Don't be upset just because you're so obvious about it… it's just…" He sighed. "You know, Billy's brother really likes you. Willy's his name."

"Willy _Johnson_?" I gasped, giggling. "That's not funny, Edward." I tried not to shake the bike too much with my laughter.

Edward smiled lightly as he crossed the street to our block, N. Huckleberry Drive. "Don't be too facetious – you'll break his heart."

I stopped laughing almost immediately. "What does 'fash-shtious' mean?" I slurred.

It was his turn to laugh. "It's _facetious_. Ms. Brooks said it meant 'silly.' Or 'flippant.'"

"Oh," I said, pausing. "What does 'flippant' mean?"

"Edwaaaard! Eleannoooor! Yooooo-hooooo!" The shout came from the house we were passing.

"Mrs. Brigs," we both said, exchanging looks. We would recognize the scruff, droning voice anywhere.

Edward slowed the bike and pulled off the road onto the sidewalk. Mrs. Brigs stood behind her whitewashed picket fence, on her green lawn, in front of her yellow house, waving her hands over her head. Her dark blue apron was just about as faded as her haywire, white hair. Her skin was dark and wrinkled, and hung from the bones of her face and her elbows.

Edward leaned the bike against Mrs. Brigs' fence, and lifted me out of the basket. He set me down on the sidewalk, and gave me the don't-be-rude look. "Hello, Mrs. Brigs. How are –?"

"You tell that mama of yours to come over for lunch one o' these days, son," she rasped, leaning over the fence to pat Edward's shoulder. I found that odd, as she usually patted our heads. However, I guessed that she didn't remember where his head was, as he had grown at least a foot so far that summer. My mother often said that Mrs. Brigs was almost blind. "We'll have some lemonade together like we used to. Oh, I remember those days were you's was just a wee boy, crawling 'cross the ol' lawn here. Yes, we used to –" I tried not to listen anymore.

It was about ten minutes later that Mrs. Brigs gave Edward a plate of cookies and a pitcher of tea, and told him to say "Hello, how-de-do" to our mother.

I pulled Edward's bike along, because I couldn't ride in a skirt, as Edward walked with the food. Nearly every summer day was very much like this, so neither of us bothered to complain _again_ about walking the rest of the way home.

Jerry Thomson waved to us again when he _finally_ made it home, at the very same time that we did. House number 700, the Masen residence. I leaned Edward's bike up against the house, right next to the driveway. My father's black Ford wasn't there.

"Dad must be working again tonight," I noted to Edward as we trudged up the steps of the small porch.

"Don't remind Mother that it's the fifth day in a row, all right?" he said, handing me the cookies so he could open the door.

Timmy Butler, who lived in the brown house across the street, had a father who got home a four every day. But I wasn't a jealous person. "Yeah, right." I walked through the door Edward held open.

The clock in the hall said it was a quarter 'til six. We usually had dinner at six, but we'd probably wait for my father to get home before eating. The night before, we hadn't eaten until seven-thirty.

"Mother? We're home!" I called, walking past the living room to the kitchen. I expected to see my mother there, working over a boiling pot or kneading some fresh bread… but she wasn't there. I set the cookies on the table while Edward set the tea on the counter space by the stove.

"Is she here?" Edward wondered, stepping back into the living room.

"Maybe she's at old lady Palmer's… or the Thomson's," I suggested.

I slumped down onto the couch as Edward checked the two bedrooms down the hallway. Besides the small basement storm shelter, that was the extent of our home. A kitchen – big enough to fit a dinner table – a living room, two bedrooms, and a bathroom at the end of the hall. I slept on the trundle mattress under Edward's bed.

"Mother? Wake up, Mother, the sun's still out." I heard Edward's voice from our parent's room.

I made my way down the hallway, and peeked into the door on the right. My mother was lying on top of the quilt of her bed, fully dressed. Concerned, I stepped inside and watched as she slowly sat up.

"Oh, Edward… you're home. Is Eleanor –?"

"I'm here, Mother." I stepped into her line of vision, and got a good look at her face. It was pale and flushed all at the same time, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She looked how my father always did when he came home very late from work. "…Mother?"

Edward put a hand on her back as she stood up slowly, but she stumbled anyway. My brother caught her elbow and steadied her. "What's wrong, Mother?" he asked, anxious.

"Nothing, of course, dear. I just… I just needed to lie down before dinner." She smiled, but it looked like a grimace.

We followed my mother down the hallway as she slowly made her way to the kitchen. It was obvious that something was wrong, but Edward and I knew not to press it.

"Mrs. Brigs gave us some cookies and tea. She says 'hello.'"

"Oh," my mother said, pleased, but her voice was faint. "She's always so sweet. We should invite her to dinner soon." She smiled weakly.

Edward and I exchanged worried looks as we entered the kitchen behind my mother. Immediately, she sat down at the table and held her chin in the palm of her hand, with her elbow on the edge of the table. My eyes widened. My mother never put her elbow on the table, even when there wasn't any food on it.

"Mother," I began, sitting in the seat next to her, "won't you let us make dinner tonight? You look really tired and I don't know when…" I trailed off, remembering Edward's warning.

"No, Eleanor, I'll make dinner. Your father will be home soon, I'm sure." But her eyebrows pulled together in doubt.

I frowned, but I knew not to argue. I never argued with my mother. Especially when she wasn't feeling well.

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><p><strong>Sorry about that sudden end. I don't have all the chapters figured out just yet. Speaking of which, would you like to see the next one? Review and tell me!<strong>

**-Scarlet**


	2. Chapter 2: Sickness

**Chapter 2: Sickness**

After all the dishes were washed and all the food was on the table, my father still wasn't home. My hands were pickled from being in the soapy washtub for so long, because my mother had dawdled making dinner. Even Edward was slow with the table settings. When the food was on the table, we three sat around the cooling dinner, waiting for a knock on the door. Waiting and waiting. Sometimes, I even forgot to pretend I was eating.

"Did you both have fun with your friends today?" my mother asked, trying to jump-start the sullen atmosphere.

Edward nodded, stabbing a pea with the tip of his fork. He had made a kebab of his utensil, alternating in carrots and peas. "We played ball at the old field again. Our team won once."

"And lost once," I added under my breath, tearing a piece off my drop roll.

"Losing is as part of the game as winning is, Eleanor." My mother never used my short name "Ella." I never understood why.

"That's what I told her," injected Edward, giving me a look. I stuck my tongue out at him when I pretended to cough.

"What did you do today, Mother?" Edward asked, ignoring me.

My mother sighed, and looked more tired than before. Her elbow was leaning on the table edge again. "I was visiting over at Ms. Palmer's for a few hours. She's taken sick."

Old lady Palmer was almost ninety years old, and lived in a pink house half a block up the road. I had helped her make ginger snaps the week before. "Is she gonna be OK?" I asked. I wondered if she'd caught what David Williams had.

"Yes, Eleanor. I believe so. Her daughter is in town this week, and she's there nursing her. But…" My mother shook her head, frustrated. "She should go to a hospital." And that was mother's way of saying it was worse than old lady Palmer's daughter thought it was.

I caught Edward's eye, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing. He narrowed his eyes, silently telling me not to say what I was about to say. "Well, I think that she –" and a knock at the door caused my words to cease.

Edward and I both shot up from our seats, but my mother held her hand up to stop us. "I'll get it," she said. "Finish your dinners."

Sourly, I thumped back down in my chair, and snatched up my spoon. Edward said nothing as our mother answered the door. But the voice that met my ears was not my father's.

"Mrs. Masen?"

"Yes?" Her voice was worried.

"Um… I don't know how to say this, but… Edward's collapsed. We took him to the hospital, and he hasn't woken up. We… we thought you should know."

I recognized the voice after a while. It was Mr. Sanders, a man my father worked with at the factory. My mother was silent for a long time, and I watched my brother's eyes grow in disbelief.

"I see," said my mother. She was trying to make her voice strong. "Could you take me there is him?" I was surprised at her forwardness. My mother was never forward.

"Of course. That's why I'm here," said Mr. Sanders.

"Just one moment, please." And my mother was back in the room.

Her face looked strained, and her eyes were as wide as Edward's. "Children," she said, and she had to swallow to find her voice again. "Your father is at the hospital, and he needs me, all right?"

We both nodded.

"Don't go out of the house until I get home; I don't know how long I'll be gone." Without warning, she left down the hall to her room.

I looked back at Edward, and questioned him with my eyes. There was no expression in his eyes, but his brow was furrowed, and his lips were in a frown. The hand he had on the table was clenched into a fist.

My mother returned then, with a shawl around her shoulders. Her eyes were much like Edward's – empty – and I wondered if my eyes looked like that, too.

"Edward, look after your sister. Get to bed on time." And that was her way of saying that we wouldn't see her until the morning. She kissed both of our foreheads and told us she loved us.

"I love you, Mother."

"Goodbye, Mother."

And then she left with Mr. Sanders in his vehicle.

:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:

"Edward?"

"Yes?" The reply was immediate.

"I can't sleep, Edward."

I heard a sigh. "Neither can I, Ella. Just try."

I turned onto my other side for the hundredth time, and pulled my thin sheet up to my chin. We'd left the window open when we went to bed, and the cool night had invaded the bedroom. An owl hooted from somewhere in the dark.

"I've already tried, Edward. I just can't."

I heard the covers shift, and Edward's head appeared over the edge of the bed. "We have scrap rounds in the morning, Ella. You'll be sorry for not sleeping."

I turned over so I couldn't see him. "It isn't _my_ fault. It's because" – I sighed – "they're not here." He knew that I meant our parents.

The mattress shifted again and I knew he'd lain back down. "I know." And that's all he said for a long time.

The mattress I slept on was only a few layers of bedding, hardly more comfortable than our front lawn. Since my and Edward's bedroom was so small, my bed slid out from under his at night, and slid back under during the day. My father had built the wooden trundle bed for us after I had escaped my crib for the fifth time.

The hours of the night ticked away as I lay there restlessly. I stared at my beloved song poster for a long time. I had saved up all my dimes and nickels early that summer to get the "Me-Ow!" poster for the new Mel Kaufman song. I had to deny myself Coca-Cola for a solid month to save up enough for that piece of paper, and I'd pestered my parents to get a kitty and name it Arogona ever since.

And then I stared at Edward's war poster, which he'd gotten for _free_ when our father signed his draft for at the recruitment office. There was Uncle Sam, pointing straight at me with a stern look that didn't match his jolly clothes. "I WANT YOU FOR U.S. ARMY." It was unlikely that my father would be called off to Europe for the Great War, and God forbid it last long enough for Edward to be sent. But the patriotism in my brother's heart couldn't keep him from wishing.

Once the grandfather clock in the hall had struck three o'clock, my agitation burst from me in a loud, frustrated groan.

"Eleanor," my brother said drowsily, his voice gruff from sleep. "Eleanor, be quiet." I couldn't tell if he were awake, or talking in his sleep as he did occasionally.

Nevertheless, I threw the covers off myself and sat up straight. Edward was turned away from me, but his breathing was too even to be awake. I poked him twice on the shoulder, but he slept on.

So, I stood up, and quietly slipped out the door.

The house looked different… surreal in the moonlight. Barefoot, I crept silently down the hall, and jumped at my reflection in the wall mirror. I smiled at my mirror image to reassure myself, but the smile was strange-looking in the dark, so I frowned instead. I looked like a little owl in the mirror, with big, black eyes and tousled hair. Blinking several times, my eyes turned green again.

My brother and I had matching green eyes, but I had more red in my hair than Edward did. My mother always said that it was because I wasn't strong enough to fight my Irish half. My father always said it was because I ate too many carrots when I was little. My father always teased.

Tiptoeing the rest of the way out of the living room, I was stopped again by another troubling sight. I was surprised that I hadn't heard her come in; I must have fallen asleep somewhere along the line.

"Mother?" I asked, approaching the form at the kitchen table. Her hands covered her face completely, and she sat very still.

"Mother," I said again, more quietly. I sensed something was wrong, but I'd never seen my mother cry before.

And then Edward was there, by my side in his PJ's. He looked at our mother, and then he looked at me questioningly. Unknowingly, I shrugged.

He walked over to our mother, and put a hand on her trembling shoulder. "Mother," he said, and I heard a quiet sob come from her throat. "Has Father… is Father…?"

"Go back to bed, you two," she said, and her voice shook. "Go back to sleep, and we'll talk in the morning."

I knew that Edward didn't want to, by the way his shoulders squared. "But Mother –" he began.

"In the morning, Edward," my mother said sternly. And we knew that we mustn't disobey.

I caught Edward's eyes when he turned away, but they still held that vacant, emotionless gaze. Like the gaze I found in my owl-eyes in the mirror.

Even though we were silent returning to our room, and we were quiet as we lay down, I knew neither of us slept.

:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:

"_Ella! Eleanor! Pssst!_ Wake up, Ella!"

"Edward?" I said, immediately squinting against the light that met my eyes. I couldn't remember falling asleep.

"It's morning. C'mon, get up!" he whispered. And then he disappeared.

I stretched my arms over my head, and wiggled my toes under the sheets. I smiled at the sunlight that streamed through the window, at the birdsong that flowed to my ears… until I remembered what happened at three o'clock that morning.

I sat up quickly, my head pounding from lack of sleep, and scanned my small room. Edward was there, standing over my mattress, fully dressed, waiting for me.

"Where's Mother?" I asked, reaching out to him.

He pursed his lips and took my hand, helping me stand up. "She's making breakfast. Hurry up and get dressed, OK?"

I nodded my head, and couldn't help the yawn that escaped me. Edward left then, and I started taking off my nightdress. I folded it neatly and put it in bottom drawer of the dresser, which was where my clothes were kept. I pulled out a fresh blouse, and my faded pink summer dress from last year. I strapped my sandals in place and pulled my fingers through my tangled hair.

My thick, brown-red hair was a curly mess that came to just below my chin. All the girls were wearing it short in those days. It was no wonder that Timmy Butler across the street used to call me "carrot-top."

Edward was waiting for me right outside the door, and he let me go first down the narrow hall-way. The smell of fried eggs wafted from the kitchen, and I felt my stomach flip-flop at the thought. But I was hungry all-the-same – I hadn't finished my dinner after my mother left.

The grandfather clock said it was six-thirty.

My mother was at the stove, but something was wrong. The red-and-white gingham apron she always wore while cooking was still hanging on its hook by the wash basin. My mother always wore her apron in the kitchen.

"Good morning, Mother," I said, just like any other morning.

She turned at my voice, but she didn't smile like she usually did. "Good morning, Eleanor. Did you sleep well?" Her voice was tired.

"Yes," I lied.

Since she hadn't said good morning to Edward, I suspected that he had already been awake for a while. I wondered how long, and what I had missed.

"Set the table for breakfast, please. We have something we'd like to talk to you and Edward about, dear."

At "we," I became aware of the foreign presence behind me at the kitchen table. A man I didn't recognize was there, and he spared me a small smile. I glanced at Edward uncomfortably, and he gave a small, sharp nod that said 'it's alright.'

"But," I argued, turning back to my mother, "Edward and I have scrap rounds this morning."

"We won't be long, Eleanor," my mother said, glancing at me disapprovingly. "Set the table, please."

It was awkward setting the table while the man sat there, but I managed to do so. Four plates of fried eggs and buttered toast sat around the table in under five minutes, with four people sitting around. I nibbled the crust of my toast and sipped my milk in silence.

It was a minute or so before my mother spoke. "Edward, Eleanor – this is Mr. McGee, a friend of Father's."

"It's good to meet you," I said, darting my eyes up from my plate for half a second. He didn't look like a McGee.

Edward just nodded his head, and Mr. McGee nodded back.

"I'd forgotten that you had a daughter, Elizabeth," Mr. McGee said, a dull smile ghosting his wrinkled face. He was much older than my father.

My mother laughed humorlessly, but it was with good effort. "She's quite the young lady now, Charles. I don't think you've seen her for many years."

"No doubt," said Charles McGee, and I felt his eyes on me. It felt strange.

"Mother?" I said, fed up with pleasantries. "What's happened to Dad?"

Mr. McGee sobered, and my mother's face hardened. I could feel Edward's displeasure at my forthrightness.

"He's become ill, Eleanor. The doctors are taking care of him at the hospital."

"What hospital?" I asked. I wanted to know where my father was.

My mother would have scolded my disrespect had Mr. McGee not been there, but she answered me anyway. "St. Luke's, dear. Downtown."

That would take at least two hours to get to on Edward's bike. I hoped Mr. McGee had brought an automobile. "So, why is Mr. McGee here, Mother?" I asked.

My rudeness had gone too far. My mother gave me a stern, cold look. "Mr. McGee is here to help us, Eleanor," she said calmly.

Something wasn't right, and I wanted to know what. I felt Edward kick my ankle under the table.

"Yes, Eleanor. I'm only here to support your mother, sweetheart. This is a hard time for your family," said Mr. McGee. The sincerity in his voice was undeniable.

It didn't feel as though they were telling us what was going on... it felt as though they were trying _not_ to tell us. The situation was making me ravenous with nerves, and my toast was already gone. I cut into the yoke of my eggs.

"Mother, is there anything we can do?" Edward asked diplomatically. I gulped my milk.

"No, Edward. Just send your father well, and hope that he'll be healthy soon." It wasn't the answer he was searching for.

My brother nodded, and then stood. His food was already gone, and I swallowed the last bite of my eggs. "We should go. We're going to be late for our route."

Edward took my plate, too, and I stood up. My mother hadn't touched her food, and our guest was eating slowly.

"All right. Come straight home once you're done, Edward. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mother."

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><p><strong> Reviews help my psyche!<strong>

**-Scarlet  
><strong>


	3. Chapter 3: Secret

**Thank you, DianaB17, for showing interest in this story.**

**Here's the next chapter.**

**-Scarlet  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: Secret<strong>

"I don't like it. It's like they're hiding something."

Edward nodded sharply. "I know. I got that feeling, too."

We traveling down the sidewalk, away from our home, neither of us feeling very much like volunteering at the local Relief Billet for a scrap assignment. Since our nation was in a state of war, weekly collections of scrap metal were gathered for manufacturing bullets and guns and tanks. Edward and I visited houses and businesses every Wednesday to help collect.

Edward walked swiftly with his hands in his pockets. I had to march along double-time to keep up with his broad strides. I was worried about the conversation we had just received, and I could tell he was too. Edward never walked with his hands in his pockets.

"I've felt that around Mother for a while now… Father as well." Edward didn't look at me as he said this, but his forward gaze was hard.

"Really?" I asked, surprised. "I haven't…"

And Edward fell silent, because he was thinking hard.

Two minutes later, as we neared the Judges' residence, I saw Tom sitting on the tip step of the porch. He was leaning forward on his knees, looking bored. "Hey, Masen…," he mumbled.

"Hi, Tom," Edward said, stopping in front of the gate. "What's up?"

"Nothin'!" Tom exclaimed. His tone did not match his expressionless face. "Nothin' at all…"

"Well…" Edward glanced at me. "We're going down to Chubb's for a soda. Wanna come?"

Chubb's was a pizza parlor in town, and a very popular hangout. Especially in the hot months of summer. It was a special treat that we were going now, and a surprise to me.

"Nawww," Tom moaned, rolling his eyes. "Ma won't let me outta the yard."

"Why not?" Edward asked. I didn't think Mrs. Judge grounded Tom often.

"Well, Sally across the street got really sick and went to the hospital. Ma doesn't want me to catch what she had."

"Sally Weaver?" Edward clarified, looking at the house behind us. Sally Weaver was a second grader who I didn't know well. "Rodney's sister?"

"Uh-hu. Ma's just being paranoid, I reckon."

"Yeah, I guess. Bye, then, Tom."

"See you later, Edward."

Tom hadn't even noticed I was there.

I bounced along beside Edward on the balls of my feet. "Are we really going to Chubb's, Edward? Really?"

Edward smiled for the first time that day. "Sure, Ella. You can have a candy bar before we do our rounds."

There was barely anyone at Chubb's, and Edward bought me a Hershey's chocolate bar. He bought himself a bottle of Coca-Cola. It was strange how empty the parlor had been; they were usually very busy. I noticed the small, red sign on the door when we were leaving.

"Edward, what does this say?" I squinted at the tiny words. "'Avoid sp-sp-sp'… what is that word, Edward?"

Edward leaned forward for a better look. "'Health Advisory: Avoid spitting, coughing, and sneezing in public."

I giggled. "'Spitting'?"

Edward's brow creased as he read the rest silently to himself.

I nibbled on my chocolate bar. It was melting fast in the sun.

After a couple of minutes, Edward turned away from the sign. He grabbed my elbow. "C'mon, Ella." And then he pulled me along down the sidewalk.

I licked my chocolate covered fingers. "What's wrong, Edward?" I asked, looking up at his troubled profile.

He didn't look at me, and his frown deepened. "I don't know, Ella. But I think…" Then he stopped to abruptly that my arm hurt when it was held back.

"_Ouch,_ Edward," I said irritably, following his pointed gaze.

It was one of the red city trolleys that I had always wanted to ride. It drove by us heading north on Beaver Street, but something was different. There were black draperies on the inside of the otherwise clear window panes. I wondered what it was that they didn't want us to see.

"It's something bad," Edward said, finishing his sentence.

I felt pricks on the back of my neck, even though the sun was hot.

Edward reached for my hand, and pulled me along again without another word. I didn't realize where we were headed until we turned back onto our street.

"Why are we going home?" I asked. Edward was being awfully strange.

"I need to talk to Mother. We can go scrapping later today."

I sulked. "But we _always_ go in the morning…"

"_Ella,_" he growled angrily. And I knew that was the end of it.

:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:

I wiped the sweat from my forehead as I followed Edward into the house. Mr. McGee's car was gone.

My mother stood at the water basin, slowly washing the dishes as she gazed out of the window there. The view was of our tiny backyard, and I didn't find it as interesting as my mother did. Even though we had made a lot of noise with the door, she had not heard or acknowledged.

"Mother!" Edward said, walking right up to her.

Her head turned, and her tired eyes fell on Edward. Her face wasn't surprised, but her voice was. "Edward? Why are you back so soon?"

"Mother," he said, ignoring her question, "what's going on? Does Dad have whatever everyone else does? Why is he at the hospital when we can take care of him? What aren't you telling us?"

I was surprised by his disrespect, and his questions seemed to perplex my mother. Her face became haunted, just like I had seen her the previous evening. She took her hands from her soapy water, and flung them around Edward's neck. She cried again, this time not so quietly.

I stood paralyzed by the scene before me. My home had been generally of good cheer during my time in it, and love bound us together strongly. However, the past twenty-four hours had been virtually the opposite of that norm.

My father, the joy-bringing patriarch of my family, was taken from me under mysterious circumstances. My mother, the loving foundation, was grief-stricken and estranged from me. And my brother, my companion and anchor, was conflicted and distant. Why?

"Eleanor!" my mother gasped, reaching out to me with one hand.

I walked forward numbly, and let her embrace me with Edward. My brother looked down at me, and a silent dread passed between us.

"Your father –!" My mother tried to speak between weeps. "Your father is –!"

Edward's whisper was below any sound I'd heard before, yet it was as loud as scream. "He's dead."

And my mother cried anew, clutching onto us as though a terrible wind would blow us away otherwise. Somehow, this information was not a surprise to me. Perhaps I had known all along, as Edward had. However, my heart still quivered at the words, and tears sprang in my eyes.

Edward and I did not volunteer for scrap rounds that day.

:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:

We ate left-over bread that night, with a wedge of cheese and cold milk. Though we only attended a church once a week and failed to pray over meals, we prayed to God that night. I don't know if he heard us, or if he cared, but our spiritual communion calmed us all enough to sleep.

I fell asleep in my mother's bed, with my mother's arms wrapped around me. Edward had gone to our room to sleep, but I heard him lie down beside us after he'd thought I was asleep. My mother's tears fell into my hair, even though she was thoroughly asleep.

I woke up multiple times, from either restlessness or bad dreams.

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><p><strong>Sorry this is shorter; I'm working on the next chapter. Review and tell me what you think!<strong>

**-Scarlet**


	4. Chapter 4: Strain

**Here's another chapter of Daylight Moon. And you'll finally get to see the scene that inspired it's name.**

**Thank you so much, SundaySolis, for your review. Your interest means a lot to me!**

**A note to all you fellow pianists out there: I know the original "The Entertainer" is neigh impossible to play with two people at the bench, but I didn't do too much research on the music from this time frame. I wanted to stay safe with good old Joplin. So... keep it real.  
><strong>

**Hope you enjoy this new chapter.  
><strong>

**-Scarlet**

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><p><strong>Chapter 4: Strain<br>**

Old lady Palmer passed away the following morning, and Ms. Brigs down the street caught the sickness. My mother made house calls on our elderly neighbors while Edward and I stayed inside. Like Tom Judge's mother, she ordered us not to leave the house.

It was three hours to lunch, and my mother still wasn't home from the Thomson's. I wondered if Billy or Willy was sick, and if that's what was taking so long. I was lying on the living room sofa, writing an entry into my summer journal. But I didn't write about my father. I wrote about the red sign outside of Chubb's and the black curtains on the trolleys.

Edward sat on the piano bench, trying to learn a new piece. His wrong notes made me scowl.

Both my brother and I took instruction in piano during the school year, from our school's music teacher. Though we had started at the very same time, he had excelled above me. I always thought it was unfair.

The next chord that Edward hit was as foul as sour milk.

"Errr! Edward!" I jumped up from the sofa and marched over to the piano. He was playing "The Entertainer" by Scott Joplin. It didn't look so hard. "Teach me the base so you can play better."

He looked up at me, frowning. "It'll take forever, Ella, and I'm not in the mood to –"

"C'mon, Edward!" I stomped my feet. "Please, please, please? Please, please! Please, please, please, please –"

"All right! _Fine._" Crossly, he made room for me on the bench.

It took a straight hour, but I was playing the left hand smoothly by the end of it. We both smiled when we finally played our impromptu duet through perfectly.

Then we sang all our favorite songs, and we laughed when I tried to sing as low as Red McKenzie. After another hour of that, we had to stop because I got a sore throat.

My mother rushed through the door at half past noon. "Edward, Eleanor!" she called.

The tone in her voice made me frown, and I caught Edward's worried look as we met her in the kitchen. My mother immediately pulled us both into a hug.

"Your friend Billy has a high fever," my mother told us softly. "Martha won't take him to the hospital because he doesn't want to go."

Martha Thomson had always spoiled her children. Their father worked at a bank.

"You may take me to the hospital when I take ill, Mother," I said.

Then my mother pulled away from us, and looked down at me. Her eyes were beseeching, but her voice was full of sorrow. "Don't say things like that, Eleanor," she said, taking me into her arms again. "Don't say things like that." She gasped, as though withholding tears.

Lunch was turkey and cheese sandwiches, with a special desert – Jell-O.

After washing up, Edward and I went out front to have some fresh air. I then understood why Tom Judge had been so bored the day before. There was not much to do in our small, mostly dirt yard.

I sat in the rim of our old tire swing, watching my feet as I spun and unspun myself around and around. The old rubber was very hot and smelly in the radiant sun, and a warm breeze blew through my hair. But then I got dizzy, so I sat on the porch step next to Edward.

My brother didn't say much; his sullen moon had returned.

I watched the white, puffy clouds wade across the blue sky in the wind. Suddenly, I gasped. "Edward! Edward, look! It's the moon!" I pointed my finger up at the vast afternoon sky, enamored by the pale half-moon I saw there. I'd never noticed it before.

"Yes, Ella. The moon." Edward wasn't as impressed.

"But Edward, why is the moon out right _now_?" I asked curiously, still watching with awe.

"Just because it's daytime doesn't mean that the moon isn't out. It's _always_ there… you can just see it better at night."

I dropped my hand. "Oh." Then my face scrunched up. "Then why can't we see the sun at night?"

"Edward!" my mother's voice called. "Help me with the laundry, please!" My mother was never strong enough to lift the basket of wet clothes by herself. I wondered if I should help her spread them out on the line in the backyard, but I figured that she wanted to be alone.

After Edward went back in, I saw Timmy Butler walking across the street towards me. He had his head down and his hands in his pockets. "Hey, Ellie," he said.

"Hi, Timmy." Though we were in the same grade in school and we lived across the street from each other, Timmy and I weren't the greatest of friends. Maybe it was because his house was two times the size of ours, and he had twice as many toys in his very own room.

"Sorry about your dad, Ellie," Timmy said, leaning against the Thomson's chain-link fence. Our yard didn't have a fence.

I shrugged. I had cried enough. "A lot of people have died," I said simply.

He nodded. "Did you hear about Billy getting sick?"

"Yeah," I said. "He should go to the hospital; he'll get his whole family sick if he doesn't."

"Yeah…" Timmy looked around. "Is Edward sick?"

"No," I said quickly. "We won't get sick because we're staying inside."

"_You're_ not inside," he remarked harshly, and I felt my temper flair.

"I'm inside my _yard_," I snapped.

"Your mother was over at the Thomson's today, she probably got it from Billy."

"No, she didn't!" I shouted, standing up. Timmy was a brat and a troublemaker.

Timmy just shrugged. "I can't believe that you didn't get it from your dad… maybe it's because he was never around…"

I jumped off the three steps of the porch, not even bothering to step on them. I stomped up to Timmy Butler and smacked him across his fat little face.

He held his cheek, and his eyes were wide. "Hey!" he yelled, and I could tell he was mad.

"Eleanor!" Edward was back.

I knew immediately that I had done wrong, but I didn't care. I wasn't sorry, and I knew he'd never hit a girl back.

"She smacked me!" Timmy shouted, looking to my brother for justice.

Edward walked down to us, and he pushed me back so he could stand in front of Timmy. He was head and shoulders above him, and Timmy's face was shadowed as he looked up at him. "Go home, Tim," Edward said.

Timmy scowled and threw a glare at me, but he knew not to argue with a seventeen-year-old. He walked back to his house and slammed the white door behind himself. I knew my mother would be hearing from his mother, but I couldn't find it within myself to care.

"Ella, you need to get control on your temper. He was just trying to bait you," Edward said. He was sounding like our father again.

"You didn't hear what he said." My voice was heavy with imminent tears, and I rubbed my eyes hard so I wouldn't cry. "What he said about _Dad_!"

But he wasn't won over. He was mad at me. "That's still no excuse! You don't go around smacking people just because of what they said!"

I felt betrayed by my own brother, so I crossed my arms and turned my face. "You don't get it. If you heard what he said, you would've _beat him up_."

He put his hand on my shoulder, and I shrugged it off. He sighed. "Ella… sometimes you have to ignore what people say."

I was so mad that my hands shook. I growled softly under my breath. "You don't _get_ it. You're just like Mom."

"Ella…"

"No, shut up!" I smacked his hand away when he tried to reach out to me. "You never understand! You would actually care if you _listened_ to me!"

"Eleanor," his voice was like acid, "stop making a scene and come inside. You're just upset."

I whipped the tears off my face violently and growled, "_Stop that,_ Edward."

My back was turned, but I could hear the confusion on his face. "Stop what?"

"Acting like – like – like…" My lip trembled, and I couldn't bring myself to say the name. My chest felt like it would implode if I didn't let myself cry. A sob broke from my lips, and Edward caught me when I was halfway to the ground.

I can't remember much of the rest of that day. I remember Edward carrying me inside and lying me down on the couch, and I remember my mother coming in to feel my forehead. I cried mostly, but soon I got so tired that I fell asleep right on the couch.

Hours later, I would wake up from time to time with coughing. I would see my mother there, sitting next to my trundle-bed and wiping my forehead with a wet rag. Edward would be there, too, but I couldn't focus hard enough to hear the words he said to me.

It was _inside_ me; I knew it.

Just like David Williams and Willy Thomson and old lady Palmer. And my father.

I had the sickness.

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><p><strong>Oh, no! Poor Eleanor. Will our favorite Doctor make an appearance in the next chapter?<strong>

**...Who can say?**

**-Scarlet  
><strong>


	5. Chapter 5: Stumble

**Wow. Remember me? My other Twilight stories have been taking my attention from this one... sorry for the big delay.**

**So... Thank you, SundaySolis and ShiningDay, for the reviews. Also, thanks to DianaB17, cocogirl198, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, and Katara Melody Cullen**** for the alerts/favs.**

**Finally... here's the next chapter.**

**-Scarlet**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5: Stumble<strong>

Edward caught the sickness much faster than I had. He was worse than me in less than five hours. My mother nursed us as well as she could, but she was tired too. When Mrs. Williams called and touched our faces, she insisted that my mother take us to the hospital. So, she dressed us and brushed the tangles from my hair before asking the neighbor to use their automobile to drive us.

Edward leaned on my mother's shoulder as we walked into the hospital. My eyelids drooped and my steps swayed as I followed closely behind. When the nurse showed us to our room, her flushed face was blurry in my vision. We were told to walk some more, upstairs even. I hadn't been more exhausted my whole life.

As I stumbled down the hallways of the hospital, an increasing sense of dread rose within me. I'm not sure whether it was fear for my brother, or simply fear from the horrific amount of death in the atmosphere around me. This was certainly like nothing I'd seen before.

Nurses and doctors rushed around, caring for their patients. The dead and dying filled every room, and even spilled out into cots along the walls in the corridors. The air was stiff and foul; death saturated each shuttering breath I took.

Once we made it to the room we were assigned, I sat rigidly on the side of Edward's bed, watching the events around me with expressionless eyes. My mother's face was pale with worry and sickness, and Edward's breaths were quiet and rough. A woman sobbed over another patient's cot, and the legs under the sheets looked as short as a child's. There were twenty beds lined up on either side of the room, totaling fourth, all bearing sick people. Coughs and moans were heard frequently, and some even thrashed in their fevered sleep.

And then a doctor came into the miserable setting, and the entire atmosphere shifted. Because I then realized that we had not just come here to die – there was help, at least, so there was hope.

The doctor was as tall as my father had been, but not as brawny. He was nearly as pale as his crisp white coat, and I wondered if that was because he was sick as well. He looked exhausted with black circles under his eyes, and his hair was tousled from working. His light brown eyes scanned the entire room before landing on my mother and me. But something was wrong. He worn no mask like all the others in the hall did, and his eyes weren't glazed over with tiredness. I wondered if all doctors were like that… if they had something better than nurses and orderlies did. He glanced down at the file of papers in his hand as he walked over to us.

"Elizabeth Masen?" he asked, and his voice was consoling and grave all at once.

I watched my mother look up at the man and nod tiredly.

"I am Dr. Cullen. I'm here to help."

My mother didn't notice his outstretched hand, as she had already looked back down at Edward. "Thank you, Doctor. Thank you so much..." Her voice was wearier than I'd ever it heard before.

Then the doctor noticed me, and I felt a wave of panic. I hated doctors.

"Hello. How are you today?" he asked, smiling.

I wondered how he could smile at such a time, but then I felt myself smiling back suddenly. Instead of feeling worse with a doctor there, I felt better. "I'm worried about Edward," I said honestly.

He nodded, and his face was serious once again. "I'll do everything I can for you brother, Miss Masen."

"OK," I said, looking away.

"Wouldn't you like to lie down?" the doctor asked, motioning to the empty bed beside Edward's cot.

I glanced at the white sheets, and then down at my brother's clammy face. He had fallen asleep right when we arrived. "No," I answered. "If I lie down, I'll surely fall asleep." I looked up after feeling the doctor's questioning gaze. His bright yellow eyes were a color I'd never seen before. "I don't wish to die yet."

The doctor's honey eyes seemed to melt with sympathy... or perhaps pity. "If you rest, your condition will get better... not worse."

I felt chided, so I stuck my chin up. "But I don't wish to rest."

His attention was drawn to my mother then, and he wrote down some of the answers she gave on his file. He asked questions like what our diet was like, when the symptoms began, what parts of town we were in recently... Then he turned to me, and put his icy fingers on my wrist and took my pulse. He put his hand on my back and told me to take deep breaths. He stuck a thermometer behind my tongue, and told me to stare at the tip of his finger as he moved it from side to side. He took notes on everything, then moved on to the next family.

I felt my mother sweep my short hair behind my ear, and looked up to her face as she stood over me. She gazed down with her warm eyes, and I smiled at the comfort they gave me. "We'll be together, Eleanor. You may sleep in peace."

I was too young to understand the depth of her statement "be together." Our family didn't attend a church often, but we had faith somewhere. From my mother's Baptist father, maybe. My father, however, had always told me to trust in myself and no one else. But I was a bad daughter – I put my trust in my parents, my brother, and my friends like Timmy Butler, Bill Johnson... and maybe even Danny Williams.

:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:

The sun went down as I lay awake in my hospital bed; the cloudy windows in the ward dimmed very slowly throughout the day. I never fell asleep, and kept glancing over at Edward. He always slept, and rolled over a lot as though he was uncomfortable. His skin was pale, even though he was sweating.

My mother was sitting beside me, stroking my hair as she thought I slumbered. I kept my eyes closed, and my raspy breaths even. I was too convincing, maybe, because the same doctor from before left his other patients to visit us.

"Would you like a bed cleared, Mrs. Masen? You must be exhausted," he said, and I felt his presence close.

"No, thank you. I'll sleep later..." My mother's soothing touch left then, and I nearly flinched when I felt the doctor's cold hand on my forehead. I balled my fists to keep from fidgeting as his chilly fingers slipped down to my neck, feeling the pulse there. "How are they?" I heard my mother ask, and then the doctor's hand disappeared.

"Eleanor's temperature is the same," he replied, and I wondered how he knew without a thermometer. "Edward's has risen, I'm afraid."

I felt myself frown. Why would the sickness go easy on _me_? Edward was much stronger than I... he should have been fighting better.

I heard my mother gasp. "Dear God!"

"Ma'am, are you ill?"

My eyes snapped open and I sat up rigidly. My mother was on her knees, clutching her forehead as the doctor held her up by the elbow; it looked like she would have collapsed otherwise. He guided her to the empty cot on across from Edward, and she laid down on the white sheets. Her face was deathly pale, almost as pale as Edward's. I felt a sudden rush of dizziness due to my upright position... but I stayed there anyway, watching my mother catch her breath.

"I am fine. Just... winded, perhaps." She caught the doctor's wrist to keep his hand from touching her forehead. I saw her fingers linger on the exposed skin below his coat sleeve, and the flash of intuition that crossed her face. She looked up at him with wide eyes, and he slowly removed her grip from his wrist.

Her brow furrowed. "You – !"

"Mrs. Masen," he said, and his voice was discomposed for the very first time. "You are very –"

But she interrupted him. "Don't worry about me, Doctor – just..." She nodded her head toward me, and the doctor glanced behind with guilty eyes.

I clutched the bed sheets in my hands. The room was spinning and dimming... my hearing began to fuzz. "Do you have the sickness, Mother?" I croaked dryly. My lips burned and my throat screamed when I tried to swallow.

"Everything's fine, Eleanor," she said evasively, nodding against her pillow. "Go back to sleep, dear."

My head fell to the pillow. I couldn't contemplate the scene further because I felt my mind slipping. The woozy feeling in my skull made my eyes drift shut into a very dark sleep.

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><p><strong>Shorter chapter, but I'm getting back into "the groove."<strong>

**Review? Tell me how I did.**

**-Scarlet**


	6. Chapter 6: Sorrow

**Hello, dear readers. Here's another chapter. ****Elizabeth's ****infamous line is in this - hope I gave it justice.  
><strong>

**Thanks for the review, ShiningDay. ^_^  
><strong>

**-Scarlet**

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><p><strong>Chapter 6: Sorrow<strong>

Edward woke up the next morning. I was so excited that I jumped out of bed at once. My knees buckled, and I skinned the palms of my hands on the rough wooden floor when I fell. A nurse came rushing in, bandaged my hands, and told me to lie still. But when she left, I sat at Edward's bedside and held his hand.

His eyelids were swollen and droopy, and his lips were chapped and white. The breaths he took rattled in his chest, and his hand was limp and clammy in mine. When he spoke, his voice was like sandpaper, "Go back to bed, Ella..."

I frowned. "But the sun is up." I gazed out the window, at the cloud-domed sky. Sticky summer rain was on the way.

"It doesn't matter," my brother rasped. "Where's Mother?"

At his words, I looked up at the bed next to his, where my mother tossed in a feverish slumber. Her brow was wrinkled and dotted with sweat. "She got faint last night. She's been sleeping for a while."

Edward didn't even have the strength to turn his head. His eyes drifted shut again, and he fell asleep right then. Tears pricked at my eyes, threatening to overtake me. I squeezed his burning hand between mine and willed the sickness to release him. I could tell his life was dwindling... his breaths were shallow and spread apart.

"How are you today, Miss Masen?"

I started at the sudden voice, and tore my eyes away from Edward's shadowed face. It was the doctor – same as the night before – standing there with an inquisitive look in his eyes. They were darker today... melted caramel instead of warm honey. I wondered why. "I'm still sick," I informed him. "And Edward is very tired..." My eyes drifted back to my brother as the doctor moved to the other side of the bed.

He took Edward's temperature again, marking it on the record he held under his arm. Then he left to all the other patients, asking them how they were and taking their vitals. I watched him from sitting on my cot, legs crossed. My body ached to lay down, but I didn't want to sleep like Edward and my mother. I had to fight it better than they were.

The doctor came back to me after checking the whole room, and listened to my breath with his stethoscope. Then he told me to cough, and he read the thermometer from my mouth. He gave me a tiny cup of water, and told me to drink it slowly.

"You're very lucky, Miss Masen," he said once he was done. "Your respiratory system has not yet been infected. Your body is fighting the illness very well."

And I was proud. I spent the whole day sitting up on pillows, sipping water that the nurses brought me, and waiting for my mother and brother to wake up. They never did. The rain that tapped on the windows lulled me to sleep after a lunch of chicken broth.

:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:_**  
><strong>_

I was disoriented when I woke up to darkness. My eyes were sticky from sleep, and my body was sweaty from the stuffy air. I tried to move my sore bones, but they screamed in protests. I soon adjusted to the lighting, and blinked to look around.

It was nighttime, and the room was filled with the night from outside the tall windows. The ward was silent – ominously so – except for the empty breaths of its patients. Feeling weak and lost within myself, I wiggled myself under into the burrow of covers and buried my face into a pillow.

Then, I heard soft, whispered voices. "Are you awake, Mrs Masen?"

I heard the sleepy mumble, "I am," and then a labored yawn.

"How are you feeling?" I decided it was the doctor's voice again.

"I feel that I will follow my husband shortly...," was her answer.

My mind drifted on the border of unconsciousness, but something kept me above slumber.

"Might speak with you, Doctor?" she beckoned surly, as if calling him back.

"Of course." I heard shuffling material, as though he'd taken a seat.

My mother sighed lowly. "You didn't know Edward... he was a wonderful man. I loved him so very much. He gave me two beautiful children and a home. I lived happily." Her reminiscent tone made me frown with gravity. She spoke as though she was already dead.

The doctor was silent; he was only there to listen.

"We have two war bonds taken out for the children... so sad they'll never be used." The sorrow in her voice tore my soul in two. I felt the aching in my chest, and tears spilt from my eyes and wet the pillow.

"I can't express my sympathy enough, Mrs. Masen." The doctor's voice was penitent.

But she continued as though he hadn't spoken. "I regret my treatment of Eleanor the most... She was so much like her father – strong and stubborn. I wanted her to be a lady, but that wasn't for her."

I tiny sob broke through my trembling lips, and I clutched the pillow closer to my face to muffle the sound. They hadn't heard me, though... or if they did, they didn't acknowledge me.

My mother's voice was so strained, her words were barely legible. "Do you have children, Dr. Cullen?"

"I am unmarried," came the soft reply.

She sighed. "There is no other feeling like it that you can sympathize with, then. The helplessness... I can't bear it for much longer." Her voice was heavy with tears, like my own.

"Forgive me," the doctor hazard. "I truly wish I could help."

There was a very long pause, and I heard nothing but Edward's gasping breath. But the doctor didn't leave, and I wondered what they were silently sharing.

Then I heard my mother's voice, and it was a desperate whisper. "Please, Doctor! _You must!_"

"What must I do, Mrs. Masen?" he prodded urgently.

"You must _save them_!" my mother pleaded breathlessly.

There was a short pause. "I will do everything in my power," the doctor promised undoubtedly.

"No, no, you must!"

I peeked through the sheets, curious due to their hurried voices. My mother gasped at the doctor's shirtfront, half-sitting and half-laying. The tears on her face sparkled with the moonlight in the room, which turned her matted hair dark silver. The doctor grasped her elbows with ghost-white hands, glowing in the surreal light, as though gently easing her away.

"You must do everything in your power, Doctor," she breathed helplessly. "What others cannot do – _that_ is what you must do for my children!" Her voice was struggled and raspy, and her breaths came in wheezes. Not even old lady Palmer breathed like that.

I looked at Edward's pale, clammy face, but he was still asleep. His eyes had purple around them, like someone had punched him hard. His lips were grey, and parted with slowly-drawn breaths.

When my mother fell silent, I hid my face again. My heart pounded painfully, fueling the sickness to flow hotly through my veins. I felt it consume me further in that moment, as though some part of me had surrendered to it.

"Doctor?" I called into the darkness, through the sheets. My voice was scared and broken, like the little coward I'd become. I didn't doubt that my frightened eyes looked like an owl's again.

"What is it, Eleanor?" The doctor came to my bedside, and peeled the sheets away from my face. His eyes were sad, filled with doubt. It was the very first time that he didn't look like an experienced doctor, but a faultable man.

"I'm frightened," I admitted shakily. "Is Mother OK?"

His head turned to my mother's bed, but I didn't look. Something warned me that I shouldn't. He didn't answer my question. "Sleep now, Eleanor." His chilly fingertips swept gently over my eyelids, closing them. "We'll speak in the morning."

:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:

I drifted through the realms of sleep, like a lonely cloud in a dark sky. The sickness raged in my body; I certainly was infected now. I thrashed like the other victims that I'd watched, trying fruitlessly to escape the sucking force that ate my willpower. My mind hazed, and bizarre colors haunted my dreams.

I woke with a jolt, which caused pain to ripple down my depleted body. I wasn't coherent enough to hear beyond the droning buzz in my ears, but my sight was strangely vivid.

A demon, an incarnation from my worst nightmares, stood above me with eyes of blood. A cursed fog hung around him in my delusional vision, and my instincts told me to escape. But my body wasn't able to move; the sickness held me there. His scarlet lips were damp on my neck, and his teeth sharp when his mouth opened over my skin.

"Stop," I breathed faintly.

His hands gripped the bed rail above my head and his teeth slowly pushed through my skin. Pain invaded me like flaming ice. Hot blood spilt down my neck, and I struggled against the pulling pain as he drank from my neck. But I was weak and helpless.

"Stop!" I gasped, clawing at the sheets that restrained my arms.

A new fire – unlike the sickness – erupted in my blood. It tore at every inch of my flesh as a rattling scream ripped up my throat. But he didn't stop... pull, pull, pull... swallow after swallow of my life left me.

"_Mother!_" I cried out as the flames peaked at my neck. "_MOTHER, HELP!_"

My heart began fluttering in my chest, causing needles of pain to prick in my veins. My breath came heavy and hard as finally the monster stopped. Though he withdrew from my neck, the pain remained tenfold. I fought against it, like I had the sickness, but it drew me into its grasp firmly and fully.

I knew it was over... My time had stopped... Everything had finished... The end had come...

My life had surely ended.

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><p><strong>I'd really like to know what you think, even if it's about breakfast tomorrow. Review?<br>**

**-Scarlet**


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